


Memory Lane

by Fix9



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Canon Asexual Character, F/M, Fluff and Angst, It’s set during like early season three, They just like. Talk abt shit n cuddle a little bit and kiss (as friends), but hes jon and shes georgie so you know., but i need you all to know that they are alt !, but its chill!! The angst isnt horrible and the fluff is chill, but theyre still alt they just tone it down a bit for polite society, enjoy, idk how to tag this!!, its the au in which they were both alt at school, minor hurt/comfort, mlm/wlw solidarity babeyyy, they arent said to be alt in the present tense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-14
Updated: 2020-10-14
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:42:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26998390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fix9/pseuds/Fix9
Summary: She doesn’t want to get back together with him. That isn’t what this is. She just hates grey area, hates not knowing where she stands with someone. She wishes they had ended in a whirlwind of tears and anger and fighting over custody of the Admiral. She hates herself for thinking that, because if she never saw him again she wouldn’t be able to have this. A walk down memory lane.
Relationships: Georgie Barker/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 4
Kudos: 50





	Memory Lane

It’s Friday night, and Georgie has a tinder date with some girl who is very into horses and very into Jesus, but there’s a new Ethiopian restaurant she’s been meaning to check out, and she seems like good enough company.

But when she gets home for the day she sees Jon on her couch looking twitchy and his _What the Ghost?_ hoodie is stained. His eye bags rival the thick black eyeliner they both wore in university. He looks like a mess, which is saying something, as he has looked like a mess since Georgie first heard the frantic knocking at her door three weeks ago.

“Jon, are you alright?” She asks as she locks the door behind her. She usually doesn’t, she isn’t afraid of someone breaking into her fifth story flat, but she’s taken to locking it now, for Jon’s sake. 

He looks up at her like he hadn’t noticed her presence until she spoke. “What? Oh yes, I’m quite alright. What, uh, what about you?”

“I’m fine...when was the last time you showered?” She asks, and she knows it might embarrass him, but she’s seen self destruction and lived self destruction and she won’t let it happen to him.

Jon looks at his sweatshirt and seems to only just now notice the stains. “It’s...been a while,” he says, “but no worries, I’ll take care of it.”

“You’re acting like you and your body are separate entities.”

“It seems increasingly clear that they are, to be honest.”

That vague, supernatural stuff is something that Georgie prefers to keep in-podcast. “It’s more than showering, Jon, you look...nervous. Have you eaten recently?”

“I’m fine, really. Wait, what time is it? Don’t you have a date tonight?”

“I told you that if you ever need me to stay home, I will.” She means it now more than ever.

“No, you should go, I’m fine. Honestly.”

Georgie Barker has always been very skilled in the art of bullshit detection. “Hm. No, you aren’t. I’m cancelling.” 

“Georgie, really-“ he knows it’s pointless to protest.

“I wasn’t super invested anyway. We’ll watch a movie or something. But not until you take a damn shower.”

“Yes. Right. Sorry.” Jon stands, awkwardly brushes crumbs and cat hair off himself, and apologizes once more before he leaves. 

“There’s nothing to apologize for,” she calls after him. Once she hears the water turn on she sets about clearing off the coffee table, stacking papers and tapes and dried out pens and putting them on the sideboard. She takes the mugs of cold, half-drunk tea into the kitchen. She’ll vacuum tomorrow, and she’ll get rid of the cat hair that coats every surface in the house. The Admiral meows. “Speak of the devil,” Georgie says, and picks up the shedding creature. She takes him to her bedroom and sets him on her bed, then digs around in the back of her closet.

She knows what she’s looking for, but it’s been awhile since she’s needed it. She pushes aside tattered tartan dresses with safety pins stuck in them and her old Tripp pants she legally can’t get rid of. “Bingo,” she whispers to herself once her hand finds the soft fabric. She grabs a pair of pajama pants she never wears—the skull pattern is very 2006—and knocks on the bathroom door just as the water shuts off. 

“Jon? I found some pajamas for you, if you want.”

“Oh, sure? Thank you,” comes the muffled response.

She doesn’t know what to do next. If it was several years ago, when they were still together, she would just open the door and leave the clothes on the sink, but they are so far from where they were when she could do that. The intimacy of being in a bathroom just after someone’s showered, steam and damp belonging to someone else. She pauses for a bit too long then says, “I’m just going to crack open the door. Can you grab them?” He can. Georgie feels the need to shut her eyes, like he’s her first girl crush at summer camp. She shoves the bundle through the space in the door and he reaches to take it, and for a horrific moment, their fingers brush. 

When they were reckless twenty year olds, they would get dressed up in fishnets and go to shows at dingy venues with sticky floors, where Georgie would run full force into the mosh pit and Jon would hang back at the bar, nursing cheap beer and getting headaches from head banging too aggressively. And then the show would end and she’d come find him, breathless and something near excited, and she’d tug on his arm and they would dance down the street, tipsy and giddy with the energy of the night, then collapse into torn booths at 24 hour diners. They would stagger home and kiss and forget to take off their eyeliner and fall into bed just as the sun came up. 

But now it is relatively early in the evening, and Georgie calls in the delivery order, desperate to shake away the awkward blush and tingling fingertips from something so casual and so commonplace as bumping the hand of the guy she dated several years ago. Who came to her house with blood on his Doc Martens looking disheveled and out of breath. Who had lost his job suddenly under undisclosed circumstances. Who now sleeps in her guest room and spends all day on the couch, petting the cat they adopted together and recording strange tapes. Who is a surprisingly good voice actor. 

She goes to change into her Officially Licensed _What The Ghost?_ sweatpants. When she returns, she bumps into Jon in the hallway. They’ve seen each other naked, they’ve seen each other in every state of dishevelment and intoxication, they’ve seen each other’s bloody noses and puffy, crying eyes, but somehow, seeing each other in their pajamas feels like a level of intimacy, of vulnerability that has long since left the table. Just seeing Jon in a t-shirt rather than buried under a hoodie makes Georgie feel like she’s crossing some line. She feels like a tubercular Victorian waif, being so scandalized by something so casual. “I can’t believe you kept this,” he says, referring to his shirt.

“I mean, it was yours. You just left it with me when we-“ it does not seem to be the best time to bring up their breakup, which was far too amicable for either of their likings. “When we split.” 

The shirt in question is really nothing special, save for the fact that Georgie had meticulously planned their dates to manage to borrow it indefinitely. She shoved it in her closet after they broke up, but it still smells like him. 

The shirt in question hangs slightly oversized on Jon’s depleted frame, his recent paranoid habits not leaving much room for maintaining a healthy diet. It’s just the logo of some punk band he used to like way back when, but it’s been washed so many times that it’s spectacularly soft. He didn’t bother to come back for it after he moved out, and it still smells like her.

What Jon loved the most about dating Georgie (aside from, of course, the companionship, the affection, how well they got along) was how _easy_ it was to be with her. She understood his brain like no one else ever had, how they fit so well on the line between friends and partners. How she didn’t mind when he told her he didn’t want to have sex with her (or anyone, really). She always seemed to  _get_ it, whatever it was. It was comfortable. It was like the shirt he now wears. He can’t believe he ever forgot about it.

There’s a long wait for their food to arrive. They sit on the couch together, but leave a space for their history and awkwardness. Georgie pours dark red wine into mismatched glasses. 

“Are you feeling better?” She asks.

“I think I am. I mean, all things considered, not looking and smelling like death is definitely an improvement from where I was an hour ago.”

“I hate to pry, and you don’t have to tell me what happened at your job or anything, but you seemed to be...worse off today than you have been. Do you want to talk about it?”

“I just. I feel crazy and trapped and alone, all the time. Even here, but it’s not your fault or anything. It’s all me. I’m the problem.” He means for this to come out as something of a joke, but it just falls out of his mouth and lands with a thud.

“Oh, Jon-“ Georgie reaches out and covers his hand with hers. It does not feel like a transgression, like breaking the unspoken pact they’ve formed since Jon came back. She doesn’t even think about it. She’s missed not thinking about it.

“Sorry, sorry, I’m really alright. You’ve been wonderful to me, and I just eat your food and sit around all day.” His hands start to twitch and his brow furrows. He looks itchy.

Georgie loses a bit of the tenderness from earlier, once again faced with the Jon she broke up with. “You don’t have to apologize, but I need you to understand that I’m doing this because I care about you, and I know you’re having a difficult time right now. I’m very sorry you’re struggling, but don’t make me feel bad for helping you out.”

“I wasn’t-“

“Jon, we’ve had this fight before. It’s fine, if honestly is, I know you don’t mean to, but sometimes it seems like you’d prefer wallow in your pain and take everyone down with you rather than meeting people halfway. You need to put in effort to not feel like shit, just as the people who care about you put in effort to help you.” Her hands fly around, miming her words. Jon is reminded of how endearing it was when Georgie spoke with her hands like this.

Jon thinks for a moment, a little stunned. He almost missed these kinds of half-arguments with her, always stemming from love and frustration and an honesty that he’s never really felt from anyone else. “No, you-you’re right. I’m s-“ She raises her eyebrow at him. He exhales and smiles gently, and means it. “Thank you. I needed to hear that.”

The food arrives soon after, and then they eat, and they are half-watching reruns of _the Twilight Zone_. The black and white casts a familiar glow in the living room, but the overhead light is still on. They talk about nothing and it feels like almost nothing has changed.

Georgie fiddles with her septum ring. “God, I should have gotten a smaller piercing. When I take this one out it’s like I have a third nostril. From hell.

“Now that’s a podcast episode.”

“I could fit a pencil through this thing.”

“I’ll take your word for it.” Jon almost laughs. It’s been awhile since Georgie’s heard that laugh properly.

“Wait. Are your piercings still open or did they get infected and close up like my eyebrow?” Jon lets out an avoidant mumble in response and Georgie scoots closer, bridging the gap in the couch. Not thinking, she grabs his head and turns it to face her. She inspects all the places she knew he was pierced - spots along his ears, one side of his nose, snakebites he got impulsively and regretted instantly. “Oh my god, they’re all still open. Do you ever put anything in them?”

“...Occasionally,” he says, snapping them both back to the situation at hand. Georgie isn’t straddling him, or anything like that, but she’s closer than she’s been in a long time. She quickly pulls her hands away. She feels herself blush. Every boundary she sets, she breaks. “I’m sorry,” she says quietly. “I don’t know how this works.” She absentmindedly runs her thumb against the bump of where the earring in Jon’s right ear lobe used to be. “I don’t know how we’re supposed to act around each other.”

Jon reaches up and lightly holds her extended wrist. He knows this is a probably a bad idea as his eyes flutter closed. He knows this might make things more awkward. His voice comes out as a whisper as he leans in.

“Like this.”

For a moment they just press their foreheads together. Jon closes the gap.

Georgie is shocked at how easily they fall into the kiss, how familiar they are to each other in this way. It begins slowly and somewhat unsure, like it always was at first, but then a hum escapes Jon’s throat, and Georgie responds by smiling against his mouth, kissing back fiercely. Just like old times.

Georgie Barker might not feel fear, but she certainly feels regret. She regrets episode 32 of _What the Ghost?_ , she regrets not buying that Siouxsie and the Banshees shirt at the thrift store, and she regrets how things ended with Jon.

She doesn’t want to get back together with him. That isn’t what this is. She just hates grey area, hates not knowing where she stands with someone. She wishes they had ended in a whirlwind of tears and anger and fighting over custody of the Admiral. She hates herself for thinking that, because if she never saw him again she wouldn’t be able to have this. A walk down memory lane.

And a walk down memory lane it is. She tugs on his lip with her teeth just the way he always liked, and his grip on her wrist tightens, almost reflexively.

She presses kisses on every visible patch of clustered, uneven scars that dot his skin. She does not do this to try to kiss them away, erase the horrors he’s lived through, no. She does it to let him know that she has his back. That they are friends, because and in spite of whatever strange display of poor judgement that’s currently happening. She works her way down to his neck where another splotch of scars stands out against his blushing skin. Georgie finds it quite funny how much hasn’t changed—there is only one way to get Jonathan Sims to shut up, and she is quite skilled at it. She’s had a lot of practice.

Georgie always made sure to let Jon decide the next move, despite any aggression or dominance on her end. She loves how she remembers to do this still, and so does he. She pulls back a bit, uses her free hand to gently comb through his hair. “Is this okay?” she breathes, and feels Jon’s head nod before he can pant his “yes.” He pushes forward so that he’s basically in her lap, she’s half sitting, half lying against the arm of the couch. He’s moved his hands so one arm his next to Georgie, supporting him, and the other falls on her hip. “I’ve missed this,” he whispers as he kisses the corner of her mouth. “I’ve missed this,” he breathes against her neck. “I’ve missed _you_ ,” he murmurs as he kisses her throat.

Her breath hitches at the vibration of his words, at his teeth scraping against her neck. She pulls him closer, tugs up the back of his soft shirt with one hand and scratches faint red lines against his back with the other. It’s like a well-rehearsed dance they haven’t performed in a while, only accessible through action.

Their legs are sort of tangled together, and for a moment they’re drunk college students just home from a show, tugging on each other’s belt loops and choker necklaces.

Eventually they part for good, and Jon puts his glasses, which were cast haphazardly into his hair, back on his nose. He sits up and Georgie stretches. “Well,” she says, exhaling, “that was nice.”

Jon blinks. “Well—I- I-, I mean. Yes, it certainly—“ he rubs a newly forming hickey in the spot where Georgie always used to leave them. “Yes. It was nice. I hope I didn’t...ruin...anything?”

She waves her hand as if banishing the notion. “You didn’t ruin anything, Jon. It probably would have happened eventually.”

“I—what?”

Georgie laughs. “You’re kind of really kissable. And now we know where we are with each other. See? There’s no awkwardness.”

Jon looks to where he’s sitting, kneeling on the couch and nearly in Georgie’s lap. He does not move away. “Oh, well. I guess there isn’t.”

“Just, for the record—I don’t expect, need or want us to get back together after this.”

“Oh, of course not.” He seems to really agree. “Friends?” He holds out a hand.

Georgie giggles and shakes it. “Friends,” she pauses. “I’m glad you’re here, Jon.”

He smiles softly. “I’m glad I’m here, too.”

Georgie gets up to turn the overhead light off and Jon turns the volume up on the tv. He sits back on his end of the couch and she leans against him. They hold each other absentmindedly. The tv glows a lazy black and white.

They call it a night not as the sun comes up, but around 11:30. Georgie stands first, and pulls Jon off of the couch. She’s surprised at how natural it feels, walking towards the bedroom with him after a long, tiring day. 

“It’s funny,” Jon begins as they reach the guest room. Georgie can hear the tiredness on his voice. “The guest room seems so foreign, in a way. I never noticed it when I lived here. I always have to fight my muscle memory so I don’t wind up at the foot of your bed at three in the morning, staring at you like an axe murderer.” 

Georgie rolls her eyes fondly. “Come on, little man, let’s go to bed.” 

He doesn’t protest, because the tension from their breakup and their forced reunion has been released, and they both can breathe again. As friends. It feels wonderful. “You’re only like, two inches taller than me,” he says, like he always did.

“Yes, but I’m a year older than you. I’m basically a cougar. A milf, even, depending on if you’re one of those ‘your cat is your biological child’ people.’” God, she’s missed this. And now it’s back. And it’s so good.

Jon laughs. “Yes, yes. ‘Mrs. Robinson, you’re trying to seduce me,’ et cetera.” 

The Admiral pops his head up from the fluffy donut he had become to sleep, eyes wide and with a sleepy ‘mrrrp?’

“God, this must be like _the Parent Trap_ for him,” Georgie says as she pulls back the covers on her side of the bed. “Sorry bud, mommy and daddy are just friends.” The Admiral jumps at her movement under the duvet and marches over to Jon’s side as he slides into bed.

“That must be even weirder for him,” Jon places his glasses on the nightstand in the same place he always did. 

“We’ll have to find him a good therapist.”

“Goodnight, Georgie.”

“Goodnight, Jon.”

It’s Friday night, and Georgie has one arm around Jon’s middle, his back against her front. She is keeping him safe from what he fears and he is anchoring her to a reality with shitty local punk bands and _Twilight Zone_ reruns. With infected eyebrow piercings and greasy takeout. With feeling. She’s missed holding him like this. He’s missed being held. 

They sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> It’s very important to me that you all know that Jon’s dms aren’t like normal docs they’re the oxford ones bc he’s A Professional Academic.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading! I think abt these two every day.
> 
> —Fix9


End file.
